A Messenger Bag and a Mother's Love
by FirefliesFlash
Summary: A one-shot explaining how and why Reid has his messenger bag. Contains spoilers for 11X11 "Entrophy" and 5X1 "Nameless, Faceless". Rated T for safety.


**_Hey guys! FirefliesFlash here. It's been a while, hasn't it? Thank you guys so much for nominating my story "Music and the Genius" for best OC-Driven (and then voting for me!) I have REALLY missed writing. Thanks again for nominating me this year, too. I feel so loved and I'm glad people are enjoying what I write. Since it's been so long, I HAD to write a story about Reid and his mom again. After I saw "Entrophy", I knew I had to write a one-shot._**

 ** _Thanks to Annber03 for being an awesome editor and friend. I couldn't have written this without your editing or encouragement. :)_**

 **Disclaimer: I do NOT own Criminal Minds.**

 **Warning: Contains spoilers for 11X11 "Entrophy" and 5X01 "Nameless, Faceless".**

* * *

 _A mother is the truest friend we have when trials, heavy and sudden, fall upon us; when adversity takes the place or prosperity; when friends who rejoice with us in our sunshine, desert us when troubles thicken around us, still she will cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts.-Washington Irving_

Dr. Spencer Reid staggered into his apartment, completely exhausted. This particular case had been more strenuous and emotionally draining than usual. Catherine Adams was a force to be reckoned with. Luckily, he and his team had been able to outsmart her. Still, her parting words still echoed in his mind,

" _That's all right. In twenty years, I'll remember your name. But you won't remember mine."_

He frowned, staring down at his feet. _Twenty years…_ He could hardly visualize what his life would be like a _year_ from now!

 _There was a 45 to 60 percent chance that I'd develop schizophrenia. The odds of me developing Alzheimer's are 50/50. I don't know what I'm more afraid of. Developing schizophrenia or developing dementia. I can't imagine not remembering my friends…or the knowledge I have. No wonder Mom's so agitated._

Savannah had given him more information on the disease and suggested that he contact the local chapter of the Alzheimer's Association.

" _They're really informative. And they have a hot line that's open 24/7. If you are have any questions, they'll also be able to help you. And they have lots of literature and research available."_

Reid pulled the business card for the Alzheimer's Association out of his pocket to place in his messenger bag for future reference. He paused for a moment, gazing at the bag before running his fingers over the old and worn material. An amused smile crossed his face as he thought about the item that had been part of his life for so long.

Reaching inside the bag, he began to dig around for a book, stopping when he noticed how cracked the leather was in several places. He had already replaced the strap multiple times, due to the weight of the sheer amount of stuff he carried inside. Of course, he had always been known to carry a lot of stuff around. While he had been on crutches after being shot in the knee by Patrick Meyers, Morgan carried the messenger bag for him whenever they were partnered together. He even remarked at one point, _"Damn, Pretty Boy! What do you have_ _ **in**_ _here? Rocks?_ "

Spencer had laughed it off at the time, but the truth was, the messenger bag contained everything he needed on a case. He always made sure to bring at least four books to read on the jet or for any downtime he may have during a case (which was rare, but he occasionally read at breakfast). There was also a deck of cards for solitaire or if anyone wanted to play poker or gin rummy, a map of the state they were visiting and the case file. Of course he also needed a large variety of pens, pencils, and highlighters and a drafting compass for completing a geographical profile. He also carried his pocket calendar, cell phone, a stack of business cards, and a notepad. Sometimes, if his mom had recently written him a letter, he'd carry it around and reread it.

In fact, it was because of his mom that he had the bag. It had belonged to her when she taught at the University of Nevada. When he graduated from high school, she gave it to him as a graduation present.

* * *

Most twelve or thirteen year olds would be nervous about attending college. Spencer Reid, however, wasn't most twelve or thirteen year olds. He was looking forward to the challenge he felt college would bring him, eager to leave the pettiness of high school behind.

He had decided to forgo a graduation party since he didn't have many friends. The only people likely to attend would've been his mother, his aunt Ethel, and few of his teachers. Instead, his mother, having one of her good days, took him to Binion's Ranch Steak House for dinner.

"I can't believe you're going off to college, Spencer," she stated, shaking her head. "I mean, you're just a baby. You just turned 12 in October. And you're moving to California?! I don't know how to feel about this."

"Don't worry, Mom," he answered. "I can take care of myself." Although, he had to admit, even he was scared about moving to California by himself while his mother stayed here in Las Vegas. He worried about her being able to take care of herself. Up to now, he had been the one looking after the house and finances, just as his father had before he left. His mom had been having more good days lately, but he knew it was only a matter of time before she had another episode. He wasn't exactly sure what she would do if that happened.

Diana Reid stared at her son, taking in his scrawny frame. He had always been tiny for his age and she had always worried about him. She had noticed a few times when he came home with a black eye or a swollen lip. Spencer always played these injuries off as "accidents", but she knew that wasn't true. She hoped that college would be a different experience entirely for him socially. Educationally, she knew he wouldn't have any trouble. He had been doing college level work for a while now.

"Mom, what is it?" Spencer asked, noticing his mother's gaze as he took a sip of his water.

"I'm just going to miss you," she replied, sighing.

"I'm going to miss you too," he answered, swallowing the growing lump in his throat.

"It's a long way from Vegas to Pasadena."

"Two hundred sixty point nine miles, to be exact," he stated factually. Diana shook her head and smiled in response. Her son's mind never ceased to amaze her. She leaned forward and patted his hand, her eyes misting a bit. _My son's becoming a man._

"Mom, please don't cry," Spencer pleaded, feeling his eyes begin to brim with tears. "I'm not going that far away. And I'll call you once a week at least." _No, that won't work. What if she has an episode? How am I going to remind her to remember to do things, like eating or taking her medication, if I only call her once a week? I'll have to call her at least once a day, if not more._ He silently did the math of a long-distance phone call from Pasadena, California to Las Vegas, Nevada in his head. _That could be expensive…_

"And write letters," Diana stated. Spencer knew his mother's fondness for letters. It had been something they had done since he was little. She would write letters to him when she knew he was having a rough day, or sometimes simply for no reason at all.

"How about a letter a day?" he suggested. "Then we can have weekly phone calls to check in and see how we're both doing?" _I can tell from Mom's letter if she's having an episode or not. If what she writes concerns me, I could always call her. Or catch the bus back to Las Vegas if needed._

"That sounds great, but isn't a letter a day a big commitment? You have your studies to think about."

"No, it won't interfere with my studying. I promise."

"Are you excited about starting college, Spencer? Be honest with me." He licked his lips nervously.

"Yes and no. I don't know what'll happen yet, you know? I just know I want to get a doctorate in Mathematics."

"English is the best way to go," Diana replied with a smirk. "Medieval Literature, to be exact." Spencer smiled and ran a hand through his hair.

"That might be my second doctorate."

"Excellent choice," she stated. "Now Spencer, I need to ask you something. It's important."

"What?" he asked, puzzled.

"If you ever have any _problems_ , you know you can talk to me right?" she asked. Spencer licked his lips nervously again and stared down at the now cold appetizer on his plate.

"I know," he answered. "Thanks, Mom." Diana smiled softly before standing up and walking over to envelop him in a hug. _I'm going to miss this_ **.**

"I have something for you," she stated, pulling away then to grab the wrapped package she'd brought into the restaurant and hand it to him. He hastily unwrapped it and opened the box to reveal her brown leather messenger bag. For as long as Spencer could remember, his mom took the bag practically everywhere she went, including the days she took him to the park to play chess. She would carry books to read, snacks for him, a pen or pencil, and her journal. He had always admired it when he was younger.

"Mom…" he breathed, looking up at her. "This is your favorite bag."

"Yes, it is," Diana said softly. Spencer looked between her and the bag.

"You're just giving it to me?"

"You always liked it when you were a little boy. Besides, I thought this would be more fun to carry around than a backpack," Diana explained simply. "And hopefully a little easier on your back as well." Spencer blinked, a touched expression on his face.

"Thanks, Mom."

"You're welcome, Spencer," Diana said, giving her son an adoring look.

* * *

The messenger bag proved to be quite useful to him throughout college (and his mom had been right. It was easier on his back). Those years had been some of the best of his life, in all sorts of ways.

He knew there would eventually come a time when it couldn't be repaired and would be too worn to use, but the bag would always remain special to him. As odd as it sounded, it was one of the more tangible ways he could hold on to the good memories he had with his mother.

One of his favorite memories from his childhood was when they had gone to the park so he could play chess. She brought the bag with her, of course.

 _Diana sat on a wooden bench near the chess table and watched him from behind her book. After he had played at least three rounds of chess, he scrambled over to the bench to sit next to her._

" _Are you finished already?"_

" _Yeah," he answered. "Nobody else wanted to play. I could play myself, but I do that all the time at home."_

" _It's so nice out here," she noted, nodding at the blue sky above them. "Would you like for me to read to you?" He nodded enthusiastically. He loved when she read to him._

" _What are you reading?"_

"' _The Parliament of Fowls' by Chaucer." He snuggled closer to her side as she brought the book closer between the two of them. She began to read to him, her voice like a lullaby, gentle and soothing. He rested his head against her shoulder and fell asleep to the sound of her voice in the heat of the summer afternoon._

" _Spencer? Spencer?" she asked some time later, nudging him awake. "Come on, baby. It's time to go home."_

" _Okay," he answered drowsily, rubbing his eyes._

" _Did you have a nice nap?" He nodded, sleepily stumbling along behind his mother. "Would you like a snack when we get home?"_

" _Can I have Jello?"_

" _Of course," she replied with a smile._

As promised, he and his mother kept in touch. At first, all was well regarding their contact. He shared good news about his time in school and was relieved to discover that everything seem okay with her back home.

Then, he began to notice something strange. Her letters weren't as frequent and when she did write, her thoughts were scattered and erratic. She wrote about the government coming to take their home and how the she believed Spencer would be abducted by someone from the C.I.A. if he wasn't careful. The increasing weirdness of her letters kept him up at night, and he found himself worrying about her more than usual.

When he turned eighteen, he battled with himself over the decision to have his mother committed. It had been agonizing. He would pick up the phone and dial the authorities only to hang up at the last minute. When he finally did make that call, he dreaded entering his home with those two men.

" _Spencer! Spencer, please don't let these people take me!" Her voice, shrill and scared, would echo in his mind forever. He cried himself to sleep that night, wondering if he had actually done the right thing._

 _ **It is the right thing. She's very sick. She can't take care of herself. You know that. She'll understand. And she'll forgive you...one day.**_

Since that day, his relationship with his mother had never been easy, but she was never far from his thoughts. He tried to focus on the good memories and thoughts of her and shove the painful ones aside. Every time he saw the bag, those memories of her always came flooding back. It was also a reminder for him to make new, fond memories with her as well.

Spencer placed the bag on the edge of his bed. Pulling out her worn copy of Chaucer's works, he smiled to himself. He settled back against his pillows and began to read the poem, "The Parliament of Fowls", her voice echoing in his mind.

" _The life so short, the craft so long to learn,_

 _The assay so hard, so sharp the conquering_

 _The fearful joy that slips away in turn,_

 _All this mean I by Love, that my feeling_

 _Astonishes with its wondrous working_

 _So fiercely that when I on love do think_

 _I know not well whether I float or sink._ "

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